My Guy
by VanillaKokain
Summary: Bakura sings a song for Malik for their anniversary.


Malik returned home from a long, stressful day at work with a small bouquet of red and white roses and baby's breath in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other. He shuffled them both to one hand as he unlocked the door to his apartment, and when he opened the door he was greeted by two very unexpected things.

Firstly, the air was heavy with the scent of garlic and tomatoes, the tell-tale sign that kushari was being prepared.

Secondly, there was a soft, rhythmic singing coming from the kitchen.

" _I'm telling you from the start I can't be torn apart from my guy."_

With a curious grin Malik closed the door and headed towards the kitchen, the words that were being sung becoming clearer the closer he got.

" _Nothing you could do could make me untrue to my guy; nothing you could buy could make me tell a lie to my guy."_

Malik paused in the doorway, surveying the scene before him; Bakura stood at the stove stirring a variety of pots wearing Malik's favorite sweater, a pair of tight black jeans, and a gag apron Malik had gotten him as a return day present years ago that said WILL COOK FOR BOOZE. He was doing a sort of dance that only required he shift his weight from one foot to the other while bouncing in time to the song he sang, but it was adorable and it had Malik grinning even more. Even more adorable was the song Bakura was singing.

" _I gave my guy my word of honor to be faithful, and I'm gonna! You best be believin' I won't be deceivin' my guy."_

Malik was content to stay and watch Bakura dance and cook until the end of the song, but just as Bakura finished the stanza he spun around to reach into the spice cupboard. When his eyes landed on Malik he froze, his pale face losing what little color it had.

"Hello, Bakura," Malik greeted. Now Bakura's face turned bright red, a color Malik would never get tired of seeing Bakura turn.

"When did you get home?"

"Just in time to hear you brag about how you can't be torn apart from me."

"Pssh- You think I was singing that song about you? As if!" Bakura grabbed the whatever bottle of spice he needed from the cupboard and spun back around, shaking it over the pan of tomato sauce with more force than necessary.

"Uh-huh. Then why were you singing it? Surely you don't expect me to believe you listen to that song on a regular basis." Malik sat the flowers and wine down and came up behind Bakura, wrapping his arms around his waist and laying his chin on his shoulder.

Bakura scoffed, pretending not to notice Malik's proximity. "Of course not. It just came on the radio at work and it's so basic and repetitive it's been stuck in my head all day."

"So you sing it while cooking my favorite meal, wearing my favorite sweater and the apron I got you, on our anniversary?"

Malik could feel the heat radiating off of Bakura's cheeks.

"You know the only way to get a song out of your head is to either listen to it or sing it," Bakura retorted defensively.

"Uh-huh. Admit it Bakura, you're just a sap."

"Whatever, I don't have to defend myself to you! I saw the flowers and wine. What's your excuse?"

"I love you and I'm not afraid to admit it."

Bakura deflated like a beach ball with a hole in it, finally leaning into Malik's embrace. Malik smiled and peppered kisses along his throat and cheeks.

"You stupid, sappy son of a bitch," Bakura let out in a sigh.

"I know you are but what am I?" Malik countered playfully before nudging Bakura, motioning to the pot of water that was about to boil over. "You better stir your noodles."

Bakura cursed and pushed him away, turning down the heat and stirring the bubbling water. "This is why I always cook when you're gone," he muttered.

"Bitch, you never cook and you know it."

In response, Bakura simply motioned to the front of his apron, the part that said WILL COOK FOR BOOZE, and then to the bottle of wine Malik had brought home. Malik rolled his eyes, but grabbed two wine glasses from the cupboard and filled them up. They drank and bantered as they waited for the rice and noodles to finish.

Because they got distracted by their banter, their glasses were empty by the time Bakura began combining the rice, lentils, and macaroni. He scooped a pile of the mixture onto a plate, spooned the tomato sauce on top, and topped that with crispy onions and chickpeas. He did the same again, minus the chickpeas, then carried both plates to the already set table. Malik followed with the wine and a smirk on his lips.

"You're such a little house husband tonight, with dinner all made and that apron on. I could get used to this."

"Keep dreaming, Ishtar. This is the last time I ever make you food."

"That's what you say every time, and yet…"

Bakura stuck out his tongue at Malik as Malik sat down. He disappeared back into the kitchen to retrieve the salad and a plate of aish baladi, and then sat down as well.

Malik hummed as he took a bite of kushari, chewing slowly to savor the taste. "Holy shit, Bakura. You went all out this year, didn't you?"

Bakura rolled his eyes and topped off their wine. "It's just kushari. Any idiot with a stove can make it."

"No, I mean, this is Rishid's recipe. I'd known it anywhere." 

Bakura's face turned a subtle pink. "So?"

Malik smiled at him, affection pouring into his expression. "You called my brother for his kushari recipe for me."

"It's not that big a deal."

"Bakura, stop. I've known you long enough to know you and my siblings have a hard time getting along. So I know it was a big deal for you to call and ask for the recipe, and I want you to know I appreciate it. I really do."

Bakura sneered and averted his gaze, but by the way his cheeks turned dark Malik knew he'd said the right thing.

"I guess I'm a stupid, sappy, son of a bitch, too," Bakura said quietly after a moment, shrugging to make the statement more casual. "I know I'm a prick and I honestly can't believe you've stuck around me for as long as you have, so I just wanted to show you how much you mean to me the best way I can."

Malik reached across the table and took Bakura's hand in his. Bakura smiled faintly and squeezed his hand. "I know. Thank you, Bakura."

"Yeah, yeah," Bakura grumbled, but he was still smiling, and still holding Malik's hand. "Now shut up and eat your damn food before it gets cold, I spent hours on it."

Malik laughed and took a big bite of kushari.

After their plates were cleared and they'd fed each other grapes and basbousa for dessert they retired to the living room, where Bakura set up a vase for the flowers Malik brought home. He tried to hide it, but Malik caught him smelling the bouquet a few times as he dumped the flower food in the water.

They settled onto the couch after that, Malik's head in Bakura's lap and Bakura's fingers combing through Malik's hair. Malik smiled as he gazed up at Bakura, taking in the very subtle frown lines and crow's feet on his otherwise ageless face. He couldn't believe it had already been eleven years since fate had returned Bakura to the mortal plane, and ten since he and Malik had reconnected and started their relationship. They weren't married, at least not in the traditional sense of most cultures, but they didn't need to be. Bakura wore Malik's gold cuff on his left bicep, and Malik wore a necklace Bakura had made for him with his own hands, and that was enough. To them, it was better than marriage.

Bakura had begun to space off as he pet Malik's hair, and he began softly humming the song he was singing earlier. Malik grinned, reaching up to trace his jawline. "You should sing me the whole song."

"No."

"Please?"

"No."

"But it's our anniversary."

Bakura rolled his eyes. Then he smirked and looked down at Malik. "I've got a better song I can sing."

"Then let's hear it."

Bakura cleared his throat, continuing to drag his fingers through Malik's sunshine hair as he began a low, somber tune;

" _I will follow him…Follow him where ever he may go…"_


End file.
